


As Certain Dark Things Are

by stardustandfantasies



Category: Original Work
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, POV Second Person, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandfantasies/pseuds/stardustandfantasies
Summary: Three reasons you think this won't last (and one reason you're finally convinced it will).





	As Certain Dark Things Are

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [Sonnet XVII](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/xvii-i-do-not-love-you/) by Pablo Neruda (tr. Stephen Tapscott).

_1: No one ever taught you how to love. You will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins._

Your father was absent; your mother confused smothering with affection. You tell yourself you wouldn't be like them, blindly chasing after love only to find disillusionment. Why should your happiness depend on people who will leave anyway?

And here you are, your arm around her waist and your shoulder supporting her head (her hair smells of lavender and citrus and home). She's dozed off long before the movie ends, but you're wide awake, scared. Scared of repeating your parents' mistakes, of losing her to someone else, and above all, of hurting her, as you always do to people who get too close.

* * *

_2: This kind of love is not allowed. No one has ever loved you this full—surely you would drown in it all._

You're used to seeking thrills—cigarettes, whiskey, love affairs that sweep like a hurricane and end just as quickly. You rush headlong into everything, chasing after adrenaline crush to feel alive.

With her, it's different. Holding hands while watching a movie and only letting go when you drop her off at home. Sharing a box of chocolate and a warm cup of coffee while storm rages outside. Pressing your cheek on to her palm, breathing in slowly, relishing her presence by your side. It's a slower, quieter, gentler kind of happiness, and you almost think it's meant to stay.

But when you're alone at night doubt creeps into your mind. Happiness comes in waves, strong enough to drown you. Nothing should be too good to be true—something is bound to go wrong, somewhere, someday.

* * *

_3: She belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. Look around you—all the signs scream do not touch._

_She's too good for you,_ they say.

 _It's not true,_ you say, but you know they can see your hesitation, hear your fear—because they are right.

She is good, _too_ good, and she deserves all the good things in this world. She is too good for you. You always ruin good things; your hands could only bruise, not heal. You would break her heart. You don't want to break her heart. If you do, you'd break yours, too—and how could you put the pieces back together again after that?

 _Are you okay?_ she asks, squeezing your hand. Hers fits in yours perfectly, as if they belong together. Her fingers are long and thin, smooth and delicate as porcelain. (Your scarred, calloused ones could easily break them.)

 _Yes,_ you reply, thinking of how everything you have now could shatter at any moment—and when it happens, you know it will be a self-inflicted destruction.

* * *

_+1: But the moment you tell yourself this should not last, you realise that you want it to—and that together with her you could make it last._

The last time she went to an amusement park, she was nine years old and her parents weren't divorced yet.

Today, she goes with you—bright-eyed, a glimpse into the happy little girl whose Mama and Papa still loved each other. She insists on trying every single ride. You, though you've tried all of them at least twice, play along. She gets motion sickness from the roller coaster and freaks out when the ghost at the haunted house grabs her ankle. You tease her for that, though you secretly like that she instinctively grabs your arm when she's scared, like she's trusting you with her life.

Resting on a bench, tired from walking around the park all day, the two of you share a gigantic cotton candy. She hasn't stopped smiling, too happy and lovely to not be kissed—and so you did. She kissed back and you tasted sugar and strawberry chapstick. You think maybe this is what happiness tastes like.

When the kiss ends, she whispers into your ear, _Please stay._

So you do.

The next few minutes are spent in silence: leaning on each other on a breezy afternoon, listening to one another's heartbeat. This is the closest you have to a forever, eternity condensed into a small moment.


End file.
